


our hearts still beat the same

by knightswatch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together (the wrong way), Growing Up Together, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:39:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You gotta make me a promise, okay?” He reaches a hand out, pinky finger extended and Hajime reaches out in return and links them together without thinking about what Tooru is going to ask him for. It doesn't matter, he always gives in any way. “I want us to be friends forever, so you have to promise we will be.”</p><p>“Okay,” he nods his head, squeezing their fingers together tightly. It's not like promising to go hunt aliens with Tooru or anything. It's an easy promise, and Tooru beams in a way that makes his heart flutter because it's a promise of adventure.</p><p>He likes the idea of having an adventure with Tooru forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our hearts still beat the same

Hajime Iwaizumi, at six, isn't exactly _lonely_. His dad just got offered a new job, a better one both of his parents say, but it meant having to move away. His mom says that he should look at it like an _adventure_ , and so that's what he does. It's not that hard, the drive from their old house to their new one is long but there's always plenty of things to watch out the window for, and when there isn't, his mom makes up games to keep him entertained.

The new house is bigger than the apartment that they used to live in—with two stories and a big bedroom that's all his, and a yard. He's excited about all of these things, really, but he charges off for the yard first, digging his butterfly net and one of the special jars his dad pokes holes in out of a box in the trunk of the car.

It's summer, and the grass is warm under his toes when he kicks his sandals off to feel it. There're wildflowers dotting the back yard and seeing them makes Hajime happy—it means that butterflies will probably come by.

There's no fence around the yard, and so when another boy wanders out of the backdoor of his house with a ball under his arm, Hajime has a clear line of sight to him. He pauses, head tilted to the side, worrying his tongue in the empty space of the tooth he's currently missing. He's pretty sure he can feel the start of the next one coming in, which is gross but also kind of cool, just like pulling the other one out was.

He expects the boy to set the ball on the grass and start kicking it, but instead he tosses it in the air, shifting so he stays under it and using just the tips of his fingers to push it aloft again. He almost drops the jar in his hand watching while the boy does it over and over again like it's easy.

Hajime's never seen someone do that before, and it seems cool. He doesn't have any sense of shyness or worry that keeps him from crossing the invisible boundary between the two lawns, shifting so the jar is tucked under his arm, waving madly. There are bandages on both of his elbows from last week when he fell down trying to learn to roller blade, and they feel sticky when he flexes his arm over his head. “Hey!”

The boy stops, catching the ball in his hands again and looking at Hajime with his head tilted slightly to one side. He's maybe just a little smaller than Hajime, with skinny arms and legs and big brown eyes that only get bigger when he sees Hajime. His mouth opens slightly but he doesn't say anything, hovering in place for a moment like a scared animal, watching Hajime like he doesn't know what to expect.

“What are you playing?” Hajime pauses when they're a few feet apart, looking at the ball curiously. He knows how to play soccer—he's actually pretty good at it, even, but he also can tell that it's not a soccer ball. He pauses, remembering how important his mom says that manners are. “What's your name?”

He goes scrambling across the yard, dropping the ball and banging back inside the house, leaving Hajime standing barefoot on the grass with a butterfly net and a hard frown on his face. He's not sure if it's his fault for having bad manners or not, and so he hovers awkwardly in place, not sure what to do.

Another boy comes out of the house, holding the hand of the first one. He's much older, looking annoyed with having to drag his younger brother around, but he smiles slightly when he sees Hajime still standing there. He mumbles something to his brother, giving him a shrug, and the boy tumbles forward a few steps before crossing his arms over his chest, tilting his chin up. “Can you play volleyball?”

Hajime shakes his head because he's never even tried before, but the image of the boy's hands tossing the ball in the air sticks in his brain, and he grins. “You can teach me! I'm good at sports.”

He hesitates, just a moment, before nodding his head and jogging over to pick up the ball. “I'm gonna set it, so you have to hit it, okay?”

Hajime nods and the ball sails off his fingers in a high arc and Hajime springs just a few inches into the air before slamming it down with his palm, leaving it warm and tingling.

 

The boy, his neighbor, is Tooru Oikawa, and volleyball is his favorite game. For awhile, that's all the two of them play, and Tooru doesn't seem quite certain of their friendship. It isn't until they start school and wind up in the same class, walking there with Tooru's older brother Akihiro alongside them, that it seems like they're really friends.

But Tooru is a good friend, and Hajime is happy about it. Even if he likes alien movies when Godzilla is obviously better and gets freaked out by the beetles that Hajime catches and tries to show him.

He likes fireflies, though, and Hajime catches him a whole jar full, handing off the glowing glass jar with a grin, watching Tooru's fingers wrap around it and cast shadows, his eyes wide, green dancing on his cheeks when he blinks. “They're like aliens!”

“No, they aren't,” he huffs, though his heart isn't really in it. “They're bugs.”

“I said _like_ aliens, not that they _are_ aliens,” Tooru sticks his tongue out and Hajime laughs at him, dropping to sit on the grass. Tooru does the same, setting the jar between them, looking up at the sky with wide eyes. It reflects back in his gaze, making him even more captivating than the galaxies above him.

He turns to face Hajime after a moment of staring quietly, blinking his eyes. “Hey.”

“What?” He blinks in return, feeling the pull of a smile on his cheeks. Tooru smiles back, just as wide, his cheeks squishing into the space of his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.

“You gotta make me a promise, okay?” He reaches a hand out, pinky finger extended and Hajime reaches out in return and links them together without thinking about what Tooru is going to ask him for. It doesn't matter, he always gives in any way. “I want us to be friends forever, so you have to promise we will be.”

“Okay,” he nods his head, squeezing their fingers together tightly. It's not like promising to go hunt aliens with Tooru or anything. It's an easy promise, and Tooru beams in a way that makes his heart flutter because it's a promise of adventure.

He likes the idea of having an adventure with Tooru forever.

* * *

He tells himself that if he _had_ broken Oikawa's nose, the idiot would have deserved it. He isn't even griping at Hajime for it, just sullenly pressing his nostril with one finger and looking at the ground. Hajime rolls his eyes, batting Oikawa's hand away from his nose. “Quit that. You're gonna make it start bleeding again.”

“Sorry,” he doesn't draw the word out long and whiny like Hajime expects, instead he slumps over further and folds his fingers awkwardly in his lap, like he doesn't know what to do with them otherwise. It's definitely worse than listening to him whine, and while Hajime is an expert on Oikawa, comforting him is still hard.

He drops to sit next to Oikawa on the gym floor, taking the volleyball from his lap and rolling it between his fingers, staring at the swirl of colors as he does, trying to think of something he can say. Oikawa tilts his head slightly, watching him curiously.

“Next year,” is what he finally settles on, still staring at the ball rather than looking at Oikawa directly. He has to take time to think the words over, letting each one rest on his tongue individually. “We're gonna beat them all, you know?”

For a moment, he expects Oikawa to just scoff and agree with him and then tease him about thinking too hard, but he stays quiet. 

“I'm sorry,” he repeats, though Hajime doesn't miss the change in its meaning. He's staring down at his fingers, lips twitching like he wants to force one of those stupid smiles on his face but can't quite make himself. His knees pull up toward his chest, and he rests his chin on them. “I'll probably never be better than Tobio-chan.”

Hajime wants to get mad at him again, but he swallows down an extra lungful of air and shakes his head, pitching to the side to lean his weight against Oikawa instead. “It's not like there's only one way to be good as a setter.”

“I'm not any kind of genius or anything,” he continues like Hajime didn't say anything, and one of the muscles in his jaw gives a twitch. Still, he gives him just one extra minute to mope before shaking his head.

“That isn't what matters, idiot.” He sighs, resisting the urge to tug on Oikawa's hair to get him to actually listen. He does lift his head this time, eyes still glazed and shiny with tears, hugging his knees the way he does when they watch movies. “It doesn't matter if Kageyama-kun is a genius or whatever—it's a game with six players, right? And you're the best at making the whole team stronger.”

He rolls his shoulders awkwardly when he finished. Speeches like this are entirely not his strong suit, and when Oikawa sniffles softly next to him he's worried he's made an even bigger mess of things, but it's followed by a chuckle.

“You're gonna hurt your head coming up with things like that, Iwa-chan.” It's not at all full of his usual sing-song brightness, but Hajime figures that Oikawa is still feeling stretched thin and battered, and he'd much rather see him feel better slowly than trying to force it all at once. He hovers for a moment before slinging his arm around Oikawa's shoulders.

“Don't think I won't hit you again,” he huffs, leaning his cheek on top of Oikawa's head when he leans into the half-embrace. Oikawa laughs again, a little less thickly, his shoulders relaxing. 

“I'm just trying to prevent you from injury,” he nuzzles his face against the side of Hajime's shoulder, making the soft strands of hair rub against Hajime's cheek. It's ticklish, and he grins just a little at the feeling. They don't do any kind of cuddling like this very often anymore—too old for it, but his dignity has never been all that important in the face of the things that make Oikawa feel better.

“Hey,” he says it softly, and it's enough to make Hajime lift his head and look down at him with both eyebrows raised, curious. Oikawa stares up at him, and there's a blaring alarm in the back of his head that says their faces are probably too close together, because he can feel the warm sigh of breath that Oikawa lets out. “You're gonna stay with me, right?”

“I promised, didn't I?” He turns away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck to hide the way it burns. It doesn't matter, he can feel Oikawa grinning at him, and the warmth lingers in his cheeks, something tingling under his skin, wanting.

 _Oh,_ he thinks.

 _Shit,_ he thinks.

He wants to _kiss_ Oikawa.

Oikawa is still smiling at the side, a real one, that Hajime can't keep himself from looking over at, draping his arms over the ball in his lap lazily and giving Oikawa a nudge with his elbow. “We can watch District Nine tonight if you want.”

It should be criminal, the way the simple offer makes Oikawa light up, nodding his head and shoving to his feet, bouncing slightly to get his long legs all the way under him before pulling Iwaizumi up as well. They're close in height still, but built differently. Oikawa is all limbs, though he manages not to entirely be awkward, either. He's willowy, long and slender but still managing to be graceful. He grins, grabbing the ball from Hajime's hands and tossing it into the bin of them as they go by.

He turns back with a shy flicker of his eyes, bumping their shoulders together and biting down on his own smile. “Thanks, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime grunts quietly in response, but later once Oikawa is asleep on the spare futon spread out next to his bed, he thinks about his best friend biting his lip and mumbling his name.

* * *

He's studying when Oikawa calls him. That, on its own, is not that strange. Oikawa has a disturbing sense of things, and one of the things he always knows is when Hajime needs a break from his books before he starts tearing pages out in wild frustration. He's getting to that point, gritting his teeth together as he stares at the algebra in front of him and answers the phone. “Hey.”

“Iwa-chan!” The single word, the nickname itself, is all it takes for Hajime to _know_ that something isn't right. He sounds strained, not like he's been crying but like he's in pain, trying to hide it under a layer of cheer and excitement. There's a beat, a strangling second where Oikawa tries to wipe the emotion out of his voice. “W- what're you up to?”

“What did you do?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. People praise Oikawa for his skills in reading people, and really, they're right to, but he's not hard for Hajime to read either. Oikawa coughs a sound that's probably supposed to be a dismissive laugh but ends in a hiss, sharp and pained.

“I- Irihata-san gave me the keys to the gym so I could set up tomorrow, his niece has that appointment, remember?” Hajime grunts some kind of acknowledgment, distracted by pushing himself away from his desk and pulling a jacket on. There's a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach, like staring over the edge of a cliff. “So I figured I would take the time to practice some serves…”

Hajime groans before he can stop himself, pressing his fingers harder against his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. This is bad, it's definitely bad. Oikawa's hurt himself before—minor things, bruised knees or a rolled ankle, but he never calls about it. Instead, he tries to keep the injury to himself, waits until Hajime calls him out on it rather than owning up to the problem.

So, for him to be _calling_ in the middle of the night, with his voice tight like this. Hajime doesn't ask anything else, just trips quietly down the stairs, a sock half on one foot, tugging the other on as he goes. “Just stay there.”

“You don't have to come!” Oikawa yelps out quickly, apparently ignoring the sound of Hajime pulling his shoes on. “I'm fine! It's really not that bad, I just—”

“Just. Stay. There.” He repeats it more slowly, deliberate on every word. He debates taking his bike but decides against it after a moment, hanging the phone up and taking off at a run instead.

For a conditioned young athlete, he still finds himself breathing hard by the time he reaches the gym. It's dark, only a few of the overhead lights flicked on, and the door is unlocked still. He shoves it open with his shoulder, scowling when his eyes land on Oikawa, leaning against a wall and gently setting a volleyball up above his head. He catches it when he sees Hajime, flashing him a smile that's at odds with the tear tracks worn into his cheeks.

He doesn't stand up, which is a red flag in itself, and Hajime stops a few feet away, crossing his arms over his chest. “What did you do?”

“Ah, my knee.” He sighs after a moment, laying the ball on the floor next to him and tapping his right knee gently with two fingers. Hajime doesn't miss the little cringe on his face at just that, and he drops so he's kneeling next to Oikawa instead, one hand under his calf, gently bending his leg.

Unlike his wailing and carrying on with small injuries, Oikawa is quiet except for a small, sharp intake of breath, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. Hajime sets his leg back down immediately, leaning both arms on his knee. “Was it when you jumped or when you landed?”

“Landed. I think something tore,” there's a shake in Hajime's hands and he really hopes that Oikawa decides not to comment on it. He can pretend to be mad instead of scared, but he won't be able to hold it up for long if Oikawa starts poking holes in his confidence.

“Alright,” Hajime sighs, digging his phone out of his pocket again, blinking when Oikawa leans forward and snatches it, shaking his head.

“You don't have to call anyone! Just—help me get home. I'll go to the doctor in the morning,” he doesn't force a smile, his eyes are dark and serious and something inside Hajime shivers uncomfortably. He hesitates then sighs after a moment, holding his hand out. He tries ignoring the tingle in his skin when Oikawa grabs his hand, stuffing his phone back in his pocket and leaning to hook Oikawa's arm around his shoulders.

He lifts them both up slowly, wrapping his other arm around Oikawa's side, trying to keep his weight off of his knee the best he can. It's hard—Oikawa's taller than him by a few centimeters now, and he has to bend his leg to accomplish it, a task that makes him pushed a strangled little sound into his own shoulder, eyes squeezing shut.

Oikawa leaves just the tip of his toe against the ground, and Hajime moves slowly, letting Oikawa hobble along beside him, kicking the door shut to the gym behind him. He hesitates for just a moment before simply leaving the door unlocked, more focused on the task of escorting Oikawa home without letting him get hurt any worse.

Before they're very far from the gym itself, Oikawa huffs softly, his fingers clinging to the edge of Hajime's jacket. “Talk about something.”

“Like what?” He sighs, holding tighter onto Oikawa's waist in return. Now that he's less panicked, there's more time for his heart to throb at the contact, pounding rebelliously against his ribcage, making him traitorously aware of the fact he's _holding_ Oikawa against his side, the way he can feel his heart beating just as hard and as erratic.

It's not for the same reasons, he has to remind himself. Oikawa isn't deriving some kind of perverse pleasure from touching him the way Hajime is, and he hates himself more for that than for not finding a way to prevent Oikawa from hurting himself by being an idiot. Oikawa shrugs as best he can, teeth worrying his lip. “I don't know. Just—talk.”

“Fine,” Hajime sighs, wracking his brain for something. “They named a dinosaur after Godzilla.”

Oikawa laughs, pressing his face against his shoulders, giggles trembling down his sides and vibrating the tips of Hajime's fingers. Usually he would complain about being told to talk and then laughed at, but he can't find it in himself to mind at the moment. It's better to hear Oikawa laughing than trying to shrug off however much pain he's in like it doesn't exist.

He's always like this, and it's frustrating to no end. The smallest inconveniences—paper cuts or a girl he thinks is cute ignoring him, and Oikawa acts like it's the end of the world, but when something is really wrong, it barely seems to exist. Hajime doesn't always know how to react, and because of it he's taken to being irritated at his dramatic moods.

Hajime is glad, though, that when things go wrong like this, Oikawa still knows to call him.

It takes longer than it usually would for him to drag Oikawa home, and there's still tears sparkling in his eyes when Hajime fumbles the door open for him and ushers him inside. He takes one look at the stairs and shakes his head with a sigh. Oikawa's brother is off at college still, meaning just his mom is at home. Hajime settles him on the couch instead, helping him wrestle his jacket off and stretch both legs out on the couch.

He sends his own parents a text saying that he ended up staying with Oikawa—they won't be surprised by it, and settles into the old armchair on the other side of the room. It's cramped, and since he gave Oikawa the nice blanket that hangs on the back of the couch he's left with the old fleece one that the cat is a fan of.

It's hard to care, though, and Oikawa stares at him and bites his lip like he wants to tell Hajime to go home and sleep in his own bed, but a glare is enough to keep him quiet in the end.

 

They both take the next day off of school, and Hajime goes in with Oikawa and his mother to see the doctor, scribbling away on his homework in the waiting room while Oikawa gets his knee looked at.

He comes out with a bright white brace on it, but walking slightly better and chatting with the pretty nurse leading them around, making her blush sweetly at them. Hajime huffs and sinks further into his seat until Oikawa actually turns to look at him, head tilted, smiling bright and wide like nothing was ever wrong to begin with.

“It's just jumpers knee,” he beams, leaning to tap the brace with his knuckles. “I have to take a few weeks off and wear this from now on.”

“That's it?” Hajime raises an eyebrow, skeptical, and Oikawa shrugs his shoulders.

“They gave me muscle relaxers to take until it's finished healing.” It all seems a shade too casual, but Hajime nods his head and punches Oikawa in the shoulder with a roll of his eyes.

“Don't do that shit again.”

* * *

It's not Hajime's first game with his new university team. It's not even his first game with a starter spot on the team, secured after their older wing spiker sprained his wrist and decided his mechanical engineering degree needed some more focus anyway.

It's his first game playing _against_ Oikawa, though, and it makes his stomach squirm with an entirely different kind of nerves. His team gets there before Oikawa's does, the net already set up and a small crowd gathering in the stands even during the warm-ups. By matter of design or coincidence, he and Oikawa ended up playing for teams with a storied, century long rivalry. The two schools were close together and it's far from the first time he's seen Oikawa since they started school—the two of them have a standing hang-out every Friday evening, whether that actually involves going out or watching sci-fi movies until they fall asleep on whichever couch they happen to be on.

But, Oikawa striding onto the court, flanked by new teammates in a crisp blue and white uniform with a number 6 printed in the center of his chest? That's a different kind of Oikawa. His face is hard, serious, and he doesn't scan the room like he's looking for Hajime to be there, instead he says something to the lanky player next to him with the _ridiculous_ spiked black hair. It's just as well, Hajime only has a moment to size him up while he's in line for spiking drills.

He doesn't examine the rest of the team the same way—doesn't try to pick apart the way they're holding their weight to see if someone has a sore knee, or notice that they have two of their fingers taped. He looks a beat too long, though, and it's not the scream of a whistle signaling his turn that interrupts him, but the fact that Oikawa looks up and catches him. A grin catches fire on his face, and rather than preen at Hajime's stare like an idiot, he does something worse.

“Yahoo! Iwa-chan!” He lifts his arm high over his head to wave, ecstatic, even as the whistle _does_ blow and Hajime charges the net to slam his spike down. Harder than he probably needs to for a warm-up, it leaves his hand tingling. He can hear the sound of Oikawa cheering for it, just like they're in high school again.

He shoots him a glare through the net, and a little spike of anxiety pierces his stomach when Oikawa grins right back at him. He does _not_ yell 'shut up, kusoikawa' through the net, because _that_ would be immature, but when Hayashi, the team's captain, gives him a questioning look, he rolls his shoulders and sighs softly.

“Childhood friend,” he answers before the question is even asked. He rubs at the back of his neck, surprised to find a thin layer of sweat there already. He knows better than to let Oikawa get under his skin like this, but Oikawa does it like that's exactly where he belongs. “We played together all the way through high school.”

Hayashi nods, crossing his arms over his chest with a low hum. He's tall, even more so than Oikawa, and thick through the arms and shoulders with muscle, and despite the fact that Hajime _knows_ that before they walked in here he was doting on his little sister, he looks plenty intimidating. 

Unless, of course, he's trying to intimidate Oikawa Tooru, who's idea of fun is picking people apart and watching them squirm. Hayashi glances back at him, leaning his head to the side. “Is he good?”

“Never played with anyone better,” Hajime shrugs, because it's true and there's no use in lying about Oikawa's skill. They'll see it up close soon enough. He chuckles softly, mostly to himself, and shakes his head. “He's an ass, but there's nobody else like him.”

 

It doesn't take half a set for Hajime to read Oikawa's team. It takes four points, in total, before he's sure of himself. It's an advantage, he realizes, that he's played so long with Oikawa that he simply knows it all. Not all of Oikawa's tricks, because that's an endless bag. But he knows that while Oikawa _can_ lead any team off his tosses alone, his new team isn't quite letting him. They aren't letting him command the way they should, and twice in those four points he catches Oikawa's new ace shooting him glares.

Hajime's marking him now, flexing his shoulders and squeezing his hands into fists and releasing them, waiting on his teams serve. It's not going to be a service ace, he knows it, and he doesn't even _need_ to watch Oikawa make the set to know _exactly_ where it's going. He's spiked that toss a million times by now, and just watching it makes him itch for another one.

But the ace who isn't Hajime doesn't know what to do with it—he moves in late like he wasn't sure it was coming to him at all, and even when the ball hits the center of his palm and he drives it downward, it strikes Hajime's block instead, already prepared for him, sending it bouncing next to Oikawa's foot.

When he lands he gives Oikawa a little grin and a nod, quick and cocky. He's tempting him—telling him _this fight is you and me_ , because he knows exactly what Oikawa will do in response. It's a long game—Oikawa won't frazzle at just this, not right away, but he and Oikawa are used to being _with_ each other, and as much as Hajime feels like he's playing without a limb, he knows its the same on the other side. 

So he picks at that weakness the same way Oikawa picks at his. Hajime might be down Oikawa's leadership (he's always relied on that more than just good tosses, they both know it) but Oikawa is without his perfectly reliable ace. He doesn't have Hajime to score him a quick point before things get bad, to boost his confidence back up.

They used to play, he knows, like one soul split into two bodies. It was an electric connection, always so perfectly in sync. He never had to focus so hard on reading Oikawa like he does now, he could tell everything he needed to know from a toss, from less than that even, an exhale of breath, the flex of Oikawa's fingers around a ball, the way he touches it softly to his forehead before serving.

Hajime _knows_ these things like he's felt them with his own body. 

Now, they're two souls in two bodies, divided entirely, and it doesn't feel anything like Hajime thought it would. It's a feeling that's impossible to _like_ , but the difference in sensation is thrilling, leaves him giddy on the court, adrenaline shaking in his limbs whenever Oikawa lines up a perfect serve, temptation itching in his hands when Oikawa sets a ball high and far back from the net. _He_ should be the one hitting it, smashing through the block in front of him, utilizing their perfect combination.

 

Oikawa's team wins, but they go to deuce in the last set, and he leaves the court feeling tired and shaky and _accomplished_ like he hasn't felt since they beat Karasuno. Oikawa lingers with his team through the line-up and the speeches after, but he's on Hajime while his team is still listening to Hayashi speak.

He's quiet, at least, though his presence alone cuts through the team. The way they part around him is almost comical until it ends up with Oikawa wrapping his arms around Hajime's neck, leaning all his weight down onto Hajime's shoulders, giggling like a little kid again. “That was _fun_ , Iwa-chan!”

It's such a far cry, the pleased chirp of his voice, the way he rubs his cheek against Hajime's head despite the sweat on both of them, from the _monster_ that Oikawa is on the court that even Hayashi snaps his mouth shut and stares. Hajime sighs, elbowing at Oikawa's stomach and growling. “You're _interrupting_ my team, Oikawa.”

Oikawa lifts his head and looks around like he's just noticing all of them, grinning wide and bright as he waves with one hand, keeping the other locked around Hajime's neck. “Yahoo! You all fought well, don't feel bad that you couldn't beat Oikawa-san!”

“I'm going to punch you,” there's no heat in it, and Hajime tells himself it's because he's _tired_ , not because he's _amused_. Oikawa isn't amusing, especially not when he's being insufferably arrogant and begging for attention at the same time. Oikawa sighs, lofty and dramatic, standing on his toes to lean his chin on the top of Hajime's head.

“I missed my dainty ace, though. I'm going to steal him now, okay?” He winks at Hayashi, who's gotten over his shock enough to laugh, probably at the combination of Oikawa's words and the murderous look developing on his face. Hayashi just gives him a wave when Oikawa drags him away, and Hajime doesn't struggle as much as he might have otherwise.

Oikawa isn't wrong though, it _was_ fun.

* * *

Living in a dorm sucks, and Hajime hates it. He doesn't have any siblings, and short of his friendship with Oikawa he's never had to share his space like this. His first year is _almost_ drawing to a close, and through the haze of finals, his brain gives him a single idea for something he can do about the dorms, at least.

He feels brain dead by the time he turns up to Oikawa's room for their hanging out night, bag heavy on his shoulder. He still has one exam left tomorrow afternoon, and if Oikawa isn't feeling _too_ needy, maybe he'll get a little more studying done.

Or maybe he won't—he's prepared for it to go either way. Despite the fact that Oikawa's roommate has already finished and left for the semester, Hajime knocks on the door, because he's nothing if not polite. Oikawa opens the door with a roll of his eyes, arms crossed when he sees that it's just Hajime standing there, wrinkling his nose. He's already in his pajamas, with his glasses low on his nose and his hair still looking annoyingly perfect. Hajime wants to ruffle it and make a mess of it, but he refrains. “I thought it was going to be _pizza_.”

“Always glad to disappoint you,” he grins, nudging his way into the room and stepping past Oikawa, stepping out of his shoes. The dig makes Oikawa chuckle, watching Hajime drop his bag by the one bed that's still made with a satisfied nod.

“I rented us the new Mad Max,” he announces, dropping to sit on the bed, stretching his legs out ahead of him. The brace is wrapped around his knee, over his alien head pajama pants but Hajime doesn't comment on it. He knows that's the quickest way to end up with Oikawa _refusing_ to put it on again, and instead he just lets go of the nagging worry.

Besides, he's heard this movie is _actually_ good, not just good by Oikawa's bizarre standards. Oikawa settles into his usual spot in his mound of pillows, passing one over for Hajime to prop his back on. He does, stuffing it against the wall behind him, curling his legs to the side rather than hanging them off the edge of the bed.

He's glad Oikawa already seems to have everything arranged—it's nice to just be able to settle in and wait for pizza, watching bad TV until it shows up (because Oikawa won't answer the door if it interrupts the movie). It's relaxing, exactly the night that Hajime _needs_ to take his mind off of finals trying to drown him.

They could be like this all the time, he figures. It's not like they don't know each other's habits and routines. 

Hajime clears his throat, not sure why the idea of offering what he's considering to Oikawa makes him _nervous_. It's not really a step toward anything. They aren't together, and two best friends living in an apartment isn't _special_.

His palms are sweating anyway when Oikawa looks over at him with a small, curious smile.

“I was thinking,” he's glad his voice doesn't sound as rough as his insides feel like he swallowed a handful gravel on his way over. It's stupid to be nervous, it's stupid to _ask_ in the first place. “We should get an apartment together next year.”

Oikawa's facial expression shifts, going from open with surprise to… something else. Nervous for a second, his composure splintering while Hajime watches, wondering what exactly he screwed up here.

There's a knock at the door and Oikawa bolts to his feet to get the pizza. Hajime presses the heel of his hand against his forehead, muffling a groan as Oikawa jabbers at the delivery guy, voice shooting an octave above its normal register.

He sets the pizza down on the bed between them, and while he looks _slightly_ more together, it almost slips out of his grip once again when Hajime raises a curious eyebrow at him. It's not as if he's going to be mad if Oikawa's already got something else line up, or if he wants to stick with living in the dorms for god knows _what_ reason.

Oikawa stares back at him for a moment, a nervous twitch in his lips before he sits, facing Hajime this time, rubbing the back of his neck. He pulls his knees up to his chest, smaller than usual, the way he watches movies when he's really invested in what's on the screen.

Or when he's scared.

"Okay," Oikawa's breath falls out of him in a long gust, his fingers twitching in their grip on his thighs, curling into the soft flannel of his pants. "I… have to tell you about something."

"What?" That alone is enough to make Hajime nervous. Oikawa shares good news with bragging and bluster, the easy arrogance that serves to carry him through every day. Not like this, curled up small with Hajime staring at him, teeth worrying at the inside of his own lip. His mind is racing to come up with reasons even as Oikawa's mouth catches into a smile. A small one, shy.

"I, um, I was gonna wait until _after_ your finals to say anything, when I told Makki and Mattsun," something inside of Hajime continues sinking, deeper into his stomach, out of his ability to hold onto it as desperately as he tries. "I got into a study abroad program for next year."

Static fills his brain up, buzzing in his head like a freshly kicked hornets nest, making it hard for him to think. He knows he's staring blankly and that it's only going to make Oikawa more anxious about sharing this news with him, and he's _trying_ to make himself stop, to switch his mental faculties back on and _say something_.

"Where?" The word comes out in a single breath, and Hajime's too—whatever it is he's feeling to worry about how he sounds right now. He spends too much of his time pretending he's not affected by Oikawa, acting hard, or annoyed, or faking threats to get him to comply. Pretending he's not more invested in the two of them than even a best friend should be. And it's okay, it's them, and it works just fine. But can't pretend in the face of this, and if his voice cracks a little and he sounds desperate and confused, well, then that's how it is.

"America?" He says it like it's a question, his toes curling into the sheets before he holds his hands up in front of him, placating. "I swear I was gonna tell you on Sunday!"

"When are you--" he can barely clear his head enough to form words, and it feels like someone _ripped_ something out of him. He'll admit that he was scared, apprehensive when they found out they had decided on different schools, but this is an entirely different feeling. It's horror, and shock, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. "When are you leaving?"

"Ah, in a few weeks," he uncurls slightly, and something in Hajime's expression must be positive. He can't tell, he's not sure what face he's making. But Oikawa seems more confident about it, and he supposes that's good enough to be called _support_. "It's, um, right after your birthday? By a couple of days."

Hajime nods, curling his hands a few times experimentally. He's trying to wrangle his mind back into place, but the progress feels slow, and Oikawa takes the incline of his head and keeps talking, a smile starting on his face, getting broader and more sure.

"I'm gonna be playing volleyball with an Olympic prospect team," he sounds excited, and Hajime can see exactly why. It's part of the reason they picked different schools—Oikawa wanted the most prestigious athletic program that would have him, and Hajime wanted a pre-med program that was equally as likely to kill him as give him a degree. He wants to kiss Oikawa for probably the thousandth time in his life, and he knows that despite his desire it's not the right moment, not the right thing to do.

He grins instead, even if it feels awkward and strained on his face. He's not as good as faking them as Oikawa is, but he tries. "You're gonna do incredible."

It doesn't take him much to say that. It'd be true no matter what Oikawa did, where he went in the world. Oikawa _is_ incredible, as much as Hajime tries _not_ to tell him that. He doesn't look like he's puffing up his ego, though, he looks surprised and pleased to hear Hajime say it, pink creeping into his cheeks. "I'm so nervous."

It's a confession and Hajime loosens slightly further, the ragged feeling of his heart trying to beat out of his chest easing to a sick ache in the back of his mind. He can do this. This is his job, to support Oikawa. It doesn't matter if he wants to kiss the stupid boy in his alien pajamas in front of him and _beg_ him not to go away. He doesn't. He laughs instead, giving Oikawa a gentle punch in his shoulder. "Don't be, idiot."

* * *

Because the planning gets left to Matsukawa and Hanamaki, Hajime's birthday and Oikawa's going away party end up as one event. He doesn't really have any complaints about that fact--he's perfectly comfortable splitting the party, despite the way Oikawa whines and says he deserves on e of his own because he'll be gone a _whole year_.

The fact makes Hajime's stomach coil every time he thinks about it, so mostly he tries not to. They're getting to the point where both of them have to be adults, and he can't keep trailing after Oikawa like a lost dog for the rest of his life. The self-deprecating turn of thoughts has become a new twist on Oikawa going away, and every time he catches himself at it, Hajime frowns.

Like now, staring at the latest condensation soaked beer that Hanamaki presses into his hand, already open, lifting his pitiful eyebrows and clucking at the expression on Iwaizumi's face, shaking his head. "You can't look so glum about your birthday."

"I'm not," he defends, and well, it's not _exactly_ wrong. Hanamaki rolls his eyes but throws an arm over Hajime's shoulders, chuckling softly and glancing at Oikawa deeply entranced in conversation with a pair of girls that ended up showing up as well. It's a bigger party than Hajime expected; their current and former teammates, people from classes (some that Hajime doesn't recognize and chalks up as Oikawa's friends), and girls that must make up his _new_ fan club. Bitterly, he hopes Oikawa isn't half as popular in America. There's no telling what he'll be like when he comes back.

The thought makes his chest rip open and ache _again_ , so he takes a too-long gulp of beer instead, shutting his eyes tightly, trying to block it out.

"You can't be glum about _that_ all night either," Hanamaki chuckles, squeezing his shoulder. Oikawa is actually leaving in the morning, flight pushed up in an effort to avoid some storm that's supposed to hit the city he's landing in next week. Matsukawa is supposed to be making sure he doesn't get too drunk to be able to make it for his flight, but he's long since vanished and Hajime isn't holding out hope for that one.

He means to adopt the role himself, but every time he finds an excuse _not_ to go over and check on Oikawa. They barely see each other the whole evening, though Hajime, if asked, would vehemently deny _avoiding_ Oikawa. He's not, there's no point in it. He should spend time with his friend before he up and vanishes for a year.

He doesn't.

Oikawa comes after him, though, once most people have trickled out and Hanamaki vanishes in search of Matsukawa (Hajime knows where _that_ search ends for the two of them and doesn't go looking). He doesn't even sway when he drops his hand onto Hajime's shoulder though his face is flushed and there's a glassy layer over his eyes, he's still smiling in that way that means he's about to be pestering. "Iwa-chan! There you are!"

"Hey," he half turns from where he was leaning on the counter, slicking his fingers over the bottle in front of him. He's had way more to drink himself than he meant to, leaving his head feeling like it's about to roll off his shoulders. Oikawa keeps smiling even when he whines, his lips look soft.

"I've barely seen you all night! You can't be anti-social at your own party," he huffs, pitching forward to splay himself over Hajime's back. There's barely a party left to interact with, and instead, Hajime wonders if Oikawa can feel his heart beating with his face pressed between his shoulder blades like it is now. He thinks about asking.

"Whatever. Having fun?" He's a coward even when he's drunk, it seems. Oikawa laughs softly and shakes his head, arms curling around Hajime's sides when he's not immediately shaken off of his back.

"Take me home," he mumbles it, leaving the vibration seeping into Hajime's back and into his chest. It's not obscene, not the way it sounds in Hajime's head, it's a simple request to have his best friend walk with him.

He thinks about how Oikawa's room is mostly packed into suitcases, but he nods his head anyway, tossing the rest of his beer back and setting it down again, only then shrugging Oikawa off his back. "Fine. C'mon."

 

Turns out, Hajime finds out, that things are pretty much _exactly_ the way they sounded in his head when Oikawa asked. If he weren't drunk, he'd probably be upset that his first kiss with Oikawa is this, but he _is_ plenty drunk and Oikawa's lips _are_ soft, and slick when they press against his from licking at them nervously on the walk back to his room.

They're hovering in the space by the door, with Oikawa's hands holding Hajime's face tightly like he's scared that Hajime is going to pull away. He's not. It would be impossible, and in return he wraps both arms around Oikawa's sides and pulls him in closer, because the contact makes him hunger to feel more of Oikawa, to bask in the warmth that rolls off his body. Oikawa's teeth dig into his lower lip, fingers moving from his face to his hair, digging into the short strands, not enough to tug but firmly still, and Hajime's head is spinning out of control.

There aren't even questions in his mind, there's just _Oikawa_ , and the fact that whatever this is and whatever it means, he doesn't care enough to actually stop. Oikawa uses his height to nudge them across the room, toward the bed, rather than just standing immobile where they started kissing, and Hajime falls into step with him easily. He's always imagined (infrequently, when he allows himself, with heat curling in his stomach and his heart in his throat), that having sex with Oikawa would be like playing with him. They settle into sync without thinking about it, because if there's anything the two of them _know_ , it's how to move _together_ like this.

Hajime hits the bed and pulls Oikawa on top of him, hands sliding from just holding his sides to stroke his back, pushing his neat button-up away to reveal skin. Dragging his fingers over it doesn't feel like enough, and they stopped kissing when they fell to avoid clacking teeth and Hajime pants a sound out of his mouth without thinking. _"Tooru."_

Oikawa's response is a shivering breath, pressing his face at the crook of Hajime's neck and lapping at the skin there, tugging softly with his teeth. He keeps touching Oikawa's back, feeling the knobs of his spine, the taut stretch of his skin, how he's so warm it feels like everything around Hajime is burning. He likes Oikawa's answer to his name, though, and he turns his head to press his face into Oikawa's hair and mumble it again, drawing it out longer, tasting it and feeling the way it rolls off his tongue, foreign but not entirely, he's used it before.

Another sound vibrates against his shoulder, Oikawa pushing his shirt out of the way to kiss at the skin there. It's not an answer, or even a recognition, just a little sound of pleasure that Oikawa gives him without thinking. Hajime likes it. He doesn't want Oikawa to make him into some faceless guy that he can do anything with (Hajime knows there's been plenty of them, even if they don't really talk about it). He wants to remind Oikawa who he is, who _they_ are.

He drags his hands down Oikawa's back again, this time to squeeze his ass through his jeans, pulling him down to rut their hips together. Everything feels a little dizzy around him, and Oikawa lifts away from attacking his collarbone to whine into the air. His hands are digging fists into the sheets on either side of Hajime's head, even when his chin tilts back slightly, exposing the pale lines of his throat, eyelashes fluttering as he repeats the motion on his own. It's fantastically unfair, just how beautiful Oikawa actually is, and how little time Hajime's been able to admire it outside of stolen glances and sleepy appreciation.

This kind of softness doesn't come easy to him, from him. Like squeezing blood out of a stone. But he rolls them both so Oikawa is on his back instead, blinking and looking confused by the wild tilt and spin of the world around him before his mouth catches into a grin. Hajime finds he likes this, maybe in a way he shouldn't, because Oikawa is _looking_ straight at him. He strokes a hand through his hair, smiling just slightly at how soft it is, sliding through his fingers without resistance, and Oikawa turns his head to kiss at Hajime's wrist like he can't get enough of them, like he doesn't know what to do with his mouth except for shower every part of Hajime that he can reach in kisses.

Yeah, he definitely likes this.

He pitches forward to lean his head on Oikawa's shoulder, settling between his legs again and palming at the tent his cock makes in his jeans, teeth digging into his lower lip when Oikawa groans at the friction. He wants all of this imprinted permanently into his memories. It's too much to pass up, and he kisses at the side of Oikawa's neck as well. There's salt on his skin, from sweat probably. It feels like they've trapped pieces of summer air between them, leaving no escape from the heat of it.

And that's, as it turns out, what Oikawa tastes like. Sweat, and cologne, and summer. He flexes his hand downward harder, moving with Oikawa when his hips snap up in search of more friction. He's not sure enough of what they're doing to push further, but Oikawa doesn't leave him to waffle or question himself, tilting his head back further with a whine, so low it sounds like _agony_. "Touch me, _please_."

He only waits another heartbeat before thumbing the button of Oikawa's jeans open, too wound up himself to really even consider trying to tease more sounds out of him, to see how desperate he can make Oikawa to be touched. He's still slow though, and the hand that isn't focused on drawing his zipper down slides up to stroke over his stomach. He pauses like that, with Oikawa's jeans open, to unbutton his shirt instead. There's nothing in the back of his head whispering empty promises of _next time_ , and he needs to make the memory of this enough. Oikawa doesn't complain this time, instead he shivers and leans into Hajime's hands everywhere they move on his chest, stroking the definition of his stomach, the layers of muscle and skin over his ribs, quickly enough just to tease over his nipples.

Oikawa blinks his eyes open, though Hajime isn't sure at what point he actually closed them, and he leans forward suddenly, bracing his elbows underneath him, hunting more hungry kisses out of Hajime's mouth. He licks between his lips, sitting up further and pulling so Hajime is resting in his lap. He gets it without words—Oikawa wants to touch him in return, and there's no part of him that complains about the thought. They only stop kissing so Oikawa can pull his shirt up over his head, tossing it to be forgotten. His skin is more tanned than Oikawa's, and his fingers seem longer when they stroke a tentative line over Hajime's side, like he's still not sure if he's allowed.

But, like with everything he does, Oikawa _needs_ to master this too, and it's only a few more light brushes before he knows what he wants to explore. His thumb seeks out the scar on Hajime's side, stroking the ugly line of it. When they were ten, he fell out of a tree and cut himself open on a rock, probably the worst he ever managed to get hurt, and he's disliked the mark left behind ever sense. It's not light or faded, but a red welt of flesh knit back together, like it could open again at the slightest provocation. It's not enough, it seems, for Oikawa just to feel it, because he leans his head to the side and kisses along the whole thing, where it wraps almost to touch Hajime's back and points down toward his navel. It's like _reverence_ and he twitches his hips, somewhere between embarrassment and arousal, arms draped loosely around Oikawa's shoulders.

For a distraction, he tries playing with Oikawa's hair again, only to find it encourages him to keep raining kisses all over his chest like he's possessed by a need to admire all of it. Hajime's face is burning when he finally gives Oikawa's hair a little tug, drawing him back into a kiss instead. Oikawa's hands pull his jeans open in return, far more gracefully than Hajime, one sliding down the front and rubbing over his boxers where they've gone slick and stuck to the head of his cock. He gasps against Oikawa's mouth and it sounds _broken_ and he can't find it in him to care.

People used to refer to him as Oikawa's _pillar_ , but he's never thought the description fit. Especially with Oikawa laying on his hip to hold him steady in the air while he rolls them forward, eyes half-open. It's the way that people seem to think he doesn't need Oikawa at all, the way Oikawa seems to buy into it too, that bothers him. He's not sure who he would be _without_ Oikawa, really, and the thought is scarier for how real it's about to become.

He leans his head forward until his forehead touches the top of Oikawa's head, breathing out hard and ragged, a hand stroking the angle of Oikawa's cheekbones, his jaw, the stretched tendon of his neck, just the skimming tip of his thumb. He wants something _more_ than just this, something it feels like they're sharing, but he's not sure how to make words out of it so instead he gasps in a sharp breath when Oikawa's hand wraps loosely around his cock and screws his hips forward into it instead. 

"Tooru," he's not sure he has a thought to attach to the name, but he mumbles it into Oikawa's hair anyway, trying to blink his eyes open again, a shiver rolling down his spine at the first slow strokes of Oikawa's hand. "You. Let me--"

His words come out in a confused jumble, but Oikawa seems to get the idea, pushing Hajime's boxers along with his jeans down his thighs before arching his hips up and doing the same to himself. It's not hard to get the idea, and he drops so he's sitting on Oikawa's thighs instead, listening to the air huff ragged out of Oikawa's mouth when Hajime thumbs over the slit of his cock, back arching into a pretty line. Oikawa returns to slowly stroking his cock in return, teeth digging a harsh arc into his shoulder as he gasps into the skin, eyes flinching closed.

"H- Hajime," he lets go of the bite to whine the name out and Hajime's stomach flutters at it, rolling hotter than before. He shifts slightly closer, so they're pressed together instead, wrapping his hand around both of them and stroking, gasping even as he does. He drags his thumb over both tips, gathering the fluid on both of them and using it to slide his hand easier. Oikawa butts his forehead gently against Hajime's shoulder, nails on one hand digging into his lower back hard enough that Hajime can feel the crescent shape of each of his nails.

Oikawa's other hand wraps around Hajime's, stroking with him. In some way, they unconsciously take turns guiding the rhythm, and Oikawa leans his head up so they kiss once again, Hajime's teeth digging at his lower lip when Oikawa twists both their wrists, pushing a strangled noise into his mouth before licking into it like he wants to follow the path of the vibrations against Oikawa's mouth.

They both come like that, passing air between them more than kissing, but too reluctant to separate further. Hajime's name is a breath that falls out of Oikawa's mouth so easily that it feels physical like it has a weight against his back, and Oikawa's chants out of his mouth like he can't stand saying it just _once_.

He's still dizzy when Oikawa shifts to let him flop on the bed, stifling a giggle at the way he drops to the sheets like an anchor, eyes closed. He expects some kind of teasing to follow, but Oikawa hums a quiet sound and touches his cheek, and after that, Hajime is asleep.

 

Hajime wakes up staring at the mole on the back of Oikawa's neck, in his boxers, with one arm draped over the naked skin of his best friend's waist. It also feels like something crawled into his mouth and died in the middle of the night though there's mercifully no pounding in his head to go with it.

He hadn't, after all, drank _that much_. Certainly not enough that it takes him more than a few blinks to remember why he's waking up like this. He rolls out of bed so violently he almost falls on the floor, pulling his hand back from touching Oikawa to cover his face and groan into his hands. It's not enough sound to wake him, thank god, and for another blistering, white-hot second, he thinks about running before Oikawa wakes up.

Except, Oikawa also has to get up and catch his fucking plane. Hajime groans once more before turning and marching himself to the bathroom, gathering his thankfully clean clothes on the way. He can deal with wrinkles in his shirt.

It's not until he's washed his face and gotten dressed and made use of the extra toothbrush he keeps on Oikawa's sink (sitting next to Oikawa's own, one of the last things he needs to pack), that he returns to where Oikawa is sleeping and shakes his shoulder with a grumble and a sigh. Oikawa rolls over, blinking up at him and throwing an arm across his face with a pitiful sound. "Wha' time?"

"You've got an hour before we need to be there," he shrugs, sitting on the edge of the bed and praying to any god that will listen that Oikawa doesn't mention what happened.

Or maybe, that he does. His heart is a confused mess when he thinks about things just going on like it _didn't_ happen. It's not so obvious anymore what he wants, and that's a bother on its own. He's supposed to be the certain one, the one that holds Oikawa together. Oikawa just groans in response and drags himself out of bed. If he notices the dark bruise at the base of his neck, one that Hajime barely remembers even leaving there, he doesn't say anything right away.

It's not until he's dressed, with all of his things thrown in the back of Hajime's jeep (used, older than both of them), that he says much of anything other than whining about getting ready or panicking about having all of his things. He's been an anxious mess, and even with Hajime driving, he taps his fingers restlessly on the shifter, teeth worrying at his lip. His eyes dart sideways and he blinks twice.

"Oh, that's the same shirt, right? Did you stay over?"

Something inside Hajime shrinks, and he shrugs his shoulders. Oikawa laughs. "Do you not remember where you slept, Iwa-chan? So naughty."

He isn't sure what to say to that, so he settles for grumbling something indistinct and turns the radio up. Let Oikawa think whatever he wants.

The anxiety between them shifts once they actually _get_ to the airport, with Hajime bouncing his leg restlessly and barely able to focus on what Oikawa is saying to him. His family was supposed to come see him off as well, but the sudden change in Oikawa's travel plans means that they couldn't make it, and now it's just the two of them.

"Why are you so--" Oikawa starts, then stops with a little huff, nodding his head. "Airport."

"Sorry," he takes to airports like most people take to hospitals. It's not just the planes or the fear of heights that keeps him from even thinking about ever getting on one. Airports are the other place that people go so they can leave you, and he's got more experience being left in one than the other. Oikawa's hand rests on his knee to keep it still, shaking his head with a little sigh.

"Deep breath, Iwa-chan, c'mon," his teeth flash white with his smile but his eyes are serious and Hajime complies, tilting his head back between his shoulders and sucking in a breath that makes his chest expand all the way, letting it out in a slow hiss between his teeth.

He doesn't feel better, but he does sit still.

They don't have very much time before Oikawa has to go through the security line, and Hajime isn't sure what to say to him. Oikawa doesn't seem sure either because he withdraws rather than prattling on about nothing. After a too-long silence, he stands and squares his shoulders, grabbing the handle of his biggest suitcase. He's smiling, and Hajime doesn't miss the tears in his eyes. He stands up too, rubbing the back of his hair and looking up at Oikawa with a much smaller smile.

"Give'em hell, okay?" It's the best thing he can think of. Oikawa stares at him and then leans down, and he knows exactly what's happening before their lips press together, and even if he _wanted_ to lean away, to escape before they kiss, he's trembling down to his core like he's going to shake apart.

Oikawa takes off for the security line at a speed that can only be called fleeing.

* * *

"Oi, asshole. I know you landed. You were _supposed_ to call me, remember? Whatever. Do it whenever you get this."

"Did you drop your phone out of the fucking plane? It's been over a week, call me back."

"It's your fucking birthday and you can't pick up? It's midnight over there, right? Well, enjoy whatever you're doing then. Happy birthday, Oikawa."

"Okay, Kusoikawa. I'm leaving you a voicemail once a week until you stop being a shitty brat and call me, got it?"

The messages devolve after that, and at this point, they're mostly sighing journal entries that he leaves for Oikawa to ignore at his leisure. He deletes them all, Hajime knows, because after four months of doing it, his inbox still isn't full. It's still turned on, and according to Oikawa's brother, his phone is working _just fine_.

Hajime is passed telling himself it doesn't matter, he's passed being _angry_ or even _worried_. He's lonely, and tired, and not since they met has he ever gone so long without talking to Oikawa. It's a sting every time the recording picks up, and Hajime still refuses to tell the damn thing about how he sat in a stupid airport and cried after Oikawa kissed him and ran away to another continent. For a year. And never called him back.

He's always been so sure that his feelings for Oikawa, whatever they really are, don't have to change their friendship if Oikawa isn't interested. He can take that, even if it burns in the back of his throat. But being _without_ Oikawa is like having part of himself taken away, and he doesn't exactly know how to handle it. 

But then, of course, they were never made to be separated for very long. It's almost six months into a long year without Oikawa, and he's, according to Yahaba who's still willing to feed Hajime information even when he refuses to put Hanamaki and Matsukawa in the middle of... whatever is going on, Oikawa is supposed to come home and visit in three weeks for Christmas. He's planning on jumping him as soon as he gets the chance because Oikawa can't hang up on him in person, and he'll find some way to work things out between them, he knows he will.

Oikawa shows up before he has more of a plan than that, three weeks early, banging on the door of Hajime's studio apartment, tears in his eyes.

It's the bad kind of crying, where his shoulders shake with sobs and he has to constantly sniffle. He has a single suitcase with him and his face is a mess, glassy, red eyes and tight skin. Hajime stares at him because he doesn't know what to do about it. He kind of wants to headbutt Oikawa right in the nose, and he kind of wants to kiss him until he _stops_ crying.

And then headbutt him.

"H- Hajime," he stumbles out, not moving from the doorway either. He scrubs his arm across his face, trying to get rid of the tears, swallowing roughly. "C- come outside with me."

"Why?" He sinks into defense instead, and Oikawa doesn't even sigh like he's missing the point of something, and Hajime can't keep ignoring the way he feels sick, the way he wants to _touch_ Oikawa just to reassure himself.

"I wanna look at the stars," it's always that simple and that complex with Oikawa, isn't it? It's an answer that gives him nothing at all, and after dragging Oikawa's suitcase inside and grabbing his jacket, Hajime follows him outside of the building. It's dark, and there's snow on the ground and the lights are too bright to see the sky well. Oikawa stares upward and sniffles again.

"Tell me what the fuck is going on." He doesn't feel bad for being demanding, not at this point. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry," his voice is soft, and honestly, Hajime was expecting more argument here. Oikawa shrinks like a wounded animal. "I _meant_ to call you—I just—I didn't know what to _say_."

"Anything, Oikawa, literally anything." He sighs, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why are you here now then?"

"I have to get surgery on my knee," Oikawa says, softly, tucking his hands into his hands into his pockets and actually _looking_ at Hajime for the first time. "I knew that, though. Before I went."

Hajime grits his teeth harder together, because not telling him that is _exactly_ like Oikawa, but that's not the answer he's looking for and they both know it. "You kissed me."

He says it like an accusation and Oikawa cringes, then laughs, high and bitter. "We had _sex_ and that's what you're mad about?"

"Oh, so you do remember," he snorts. They are, apparently, not too old to be fighting like children. Outside in the cold and yelling at each other. "I'm mad because you did it and then you _ran away_."

Oikawa has his mouth open with an answer, then he snaps it shut, surprised. There's still tears in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth are trembling and Hajime is shaking and he's not sure if he's cold, or angry, or terrified. "You ran away and you wouldn't call me back. I've been trying to get a hold of you for _months_ , Oikawa. Answer me."

"I know." He _sounds_ sorry, at least, but Hajime still frowns back at him. "I wasn't—I wasn't even afraid of what you'd say. If you didn't want to be friends anymore you would've stopped calling."

"So what is it?" He's softer, if only by a degree, and resisting the urge to take Oikawa's face in his hands and stroke his cheeks, to try and coax something out of him. He's not sure if it would work, he's not sure if he wants to find out where it would lead.

"I was trying to make sure I was good enough for you," and Hajime would _laugh_ at how absurd that is if Oikawa didn't sound so small, so serious, and afraid. Like even know Hajime is going to tell him that he's _not_ ; that Hajime thinks he's the failure that Oikawa sees in the mirror.

He does step forward, and he does take Oikawa's face and rub his cheeks gently with his thumbs, shaking his head. "If you think after all this time that I don't know _exactly_ who you are, you're an idiot."

"That's not very nice, Iwa-chan," he pouts, soft, but there's a golden light in his eyes and he's holding still as a statue like Hajime is going to spook if he breathes.

This time, he's the one to kiss Oikawa.

 

The surgery, it turns out, isn't serious. It's elective on Oikawa's part, even. If he does it and takes the time off to recover, it'll prevent him from having any more problems with his knee. The rest of his stuff gets shipped back, along with an entire case of get well soon cards that certainly aren't from a team of college volleyball players.

Shortening his study abroad to just one semester leaves him without a place to live, and Hajime has to pretend to be reluctant to let Oikawa move into his tiny apartment with him. Because he doesn't want to share a bed, and a shower, and to bump into each other while trying to get breakfast, and to have stupid movie nights on their shitty couch to forget about how hard school is.

Oikawa laughs at his pretending and shows up the next day with his things and a key flirted out of Hajime's landlady's hand.

 

The coach from his study abroad team is the one to call him about the Olympic tryout the next year anyway, so Oikawa maintains that it all worked out for the better thanks to him.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time I've ever seriously sat down and written iwaoi, and of course it's well, angst. _Oops_.


End file.
